My Mind Was Once The

But At My Back I Always Hear Time's Winged Chariot Hurrying Near.

How Vainly Men Themselves Amaze To Win The Palm, The Oak, Or Bays; And Their Uncessant Labours See Crown'd From Some Single Herb Or Tree. Whose Short And Narrow Verged Shade Does Prudently Their Toils Upbraid; While All Flow'rs And All Trees Do Close To Weave The Garlands Of Repose.

The World In All Doth But Two Nations Bear- The Good, The Bad; And These Mixed Everywhere.

But Fate Does Iron Wedges Drive, And Always Crowds Itself Betwixt.

Therefore The Love Which Us Doth Bind, But Fate So Enviously Debars, Is The Conjunction Of The Mind, And Opposition Of The Stars.